He was as like an Arctic fox--sharp face, p.r.i.c.k ears, and all--as any dog could be, only instead of lagging his tail behind him, as a fox does, the Pomeranian prefers to curl it up over his back, probably for the simple reason that he does not wish to have it soiled. Vee-Vee was extremely fond of me, and although, as you know, dear Nero is of a jealous temperament, he graciously permitted Vee-Vee to caress me as much as he pleased, and me to return his caresses.

"It was a sight to see the two dogs together out for a ramble--Nero with his gigantic height, his n.o.ble proportions, and long flat coat of jetty black, and Vee-Vee, so altogether unlike him in every way, trotting along by his side in jacket of purest snow!

"Vee-Vee's jacket used to be whiter on Sat.u.r.day than on any other day, because it was washed on that morning of the week, and to make his personal beauties all the more noticeable he always on that day and on the next wore a ribbon of blue or crimson.

"Now, mischievous Nero, if he got a chance, was sure to tumble Vee-Vee into a mud-hole just after he was nearly dried and lovely. I am sure he did it out of pure fun, for when Vee-Vee came downstairs to go out on these occasions, Nero would meet him, and eye him all over, and walk round him, and snuff him, and smell at him in the most provoking teasing manner possible.

"'Oh! aren't you proud!' he would seem to say, and 'aren't you white and clean and nice, and doesn't that bit of blue ribbon, suit you! What do you think of yourself, eh? My master can't wash me white, but I can wash you black, only wait till we go out and come to a nice mud-heap, and see if I don't change the colour of your jacket for you.'

"Vee-Vee, though only a Pomeranian, learned a great many of Nero's tricks; this proves that one dog can teach another. He used to swim along with Nero, although when first going into the water he sometimes lost confidence, and got on to his big friend's shoulders, at which Nero used to seem vastly amused. He would look up at me with a sparkle of genuine mirth in his eye as much as to say--

"'Only look, master, at this little fool of a Vee-Vee perched upon my shoulder, like a fantail pigeon on top of a hen-house. But I don't mind his weight, not in the slightest.'

"Vee-Vee used to fetch and carry as well as Nero, in his own quiet little way. One day I dropped my purse in the street, and was well-nigh home before I missed it. You may judge of my joy when on looking round I found Vee-Vee coming walking along with the purse in his mouth, looking as solemn as a little judge. Vee-Vee, I may tell you, was only about two weeks old when I first had him; he was too young to wean, and the trouble of spoon-feeding was very great. In my dilemma, a favourite cat of mine came to my a.s.sistance. She had recently lost her kittens, and took to suckling young Vee-Vee as naturally as if she had been his mother."

"How strange," said Ida, "for a cat to suckle a puppy."

"Cats, Ida," I replied, "have many curious fancies. A book [Note 1]

that I wrote some little time since gives many very strange ill.u.s.trations of the queer ways of these animals. Cats have been known to suckle the young of rats, and even of hedgehogs, and to bring in chickens and ducklings, and brood over them. This only proves, I think, that it is cruel to take a cat's kittens away from her all at once."

"Yes, it is," Ida said, thoughtfully; "and yet it seems almost more cruel to permit her to rear a large number of kittens that you cannot afterwards find homes for."

"A very sensible remark, birdie. Well, to return to our mutual friend Nero: about the same time that he had as his bosom companion the little dog Vee-Vee, he contracted a strange and inexplicable affection for another tiny dog that lived quite a mile and a half away, and for a time she was altogether the favourite. The most curious part of the affair was this: Nero's new favourite was only about six or seven inches in height, and so small that it could easily have been put into a gentleman's hat, and the hat put on the gentleman's head without much inconvenience to either the gentleman or the dog.

"When stationed at Sheerness, we lived on board H.M.S. P--, the flagship there. On board were several other dogs. The captain of marines had one, for example, a large, flat-coated, black, saucy retriever, that rejoiced in the name of 'Daidles'; the commander had two, a large fox-terrier, and a curly-coated retriever called 'Sambo.' All were wardroom dogs--that is, all belonged to the officers' mess-room--and lived there day and night, for there were no fine carpets to spoil, only a well-scoured deck, and no ladies to object. Upon the whole, it must be allowed that there was very little disagreement indeed among the mess dogs. The fox-terrier was permitted to exist by the other three large animals, and sometimes he was severely chastised by one of the retrievers, only he could take his own part well enough. With the commander's curly retriever, Nero cemented a friendship, which he kept up until we left the ship, and many a romp they had together on deck, and many a delightful cruise on sh.o.r.e. But Daidles, the marine Officer's dog, was a veritable snarley-yow; he therefore was treated by Nero to a sound thrashing once every month, as regularly as the new moon. It is but just to Nero to say that Daidles always commenced those rows by challenging Nero to mortal combat. Wild, cruel fights they used to be, and much blood used to be spilled ere we could part them. As an instance of memory in the dog, I may mention that two years after Nero and I left the ship, we met Captain L--and his dog Daidles by chance in Chatham one day. Nero knew Daidles, and Daidles knew Nero, long before the captain and I were near enough to shake hands.

"'Hullo!' cried Nero; 'here we are again.'

"'Yes,' cried Daidles; 'let us have another fight for auld lang syne.'

"And they did, and tore each other fearfully.

"Nero's life on board this particular ship was a very happy one, for everybody loved him, from the captain downwards to the little loblolly boy who washed the bottles, spread the plasters, and made the poultices.

"The blue-jackets all loved Nero; but he was more particularly the pet of the marine mess. This may be accounted for from the fact that my servant was a marine.

"But every day when the bugle called the red-coats to dinner--

"'That calls me,' Master Nero would say; then off he would trot.

"His plan was to go from one table to another, and it would be superfluous to say that he never went short.

"Nero had one very particular friend on board--dear old chief engineer C--. Now my cabin was a dark and dismal one down in the c.o.c.kpit, I being then only junior surgeon; the engineer's was on the main deck, and had a beautiful port. As Mr C--was a married man, he slept on sh.o.r.e; therefore he kindly gave up his cabin to me--no, not to _me_, as he plainly gave me to understand, but to _Nero_.

"Nero liked his comforts, and it was C--'s delight of a morning after breakfast to make Nero jump on top of my cot, and put his head on my pillow. Then C--would cover him over with a rug, and the dog would give a great sigh of satisfaction and go off to sleep, and all the din and all the row of a thousand men at work and drill, could not waken Nero until he had his nap out.

"On Sunday morning the captain went round all the decks of the ship inspecting them--the mess places, and the men's kits and cooking utensils, everything, in fact, about the ship was examined on this morning. He was followed by the commander, the chief surgeon, and by Nero.

"The inspection over, the boats were called away for church on sh.o.r.e.

Having landed, the men formed into marching order, band first, then the officers, and next the blue-jackets. Nero's place was in front of the band, and from the gay and jaunty way he stepped out, you might have imagined that he considered himself captain of all these men.

"Sometimes a death took place, and the march to the churchyard was a very solemn and imposing spectacle. The very dog seemed to feel the solemnity of the occasion; and I have known him march in front all the way with lowered head and tail, as if he really felt that one of his poor messmates was like Tom Bowling, 'a sheer hulk,' and that he would never, never see him again. You remember the beautiful old song, Ida, and its grand, ringing old tune--

"'Here a sheer hulk lies poor Tom Bowling, The darling of our crew; No more he'll hear the billows howling, For death has broached him to.

His form was of the manliest beauty, His heart was pure and soft; Faithful below he did his duty, And now he has gone aloft.'

"It was on board this ship that Nero first learned that graceful inclination of the body we call making a bow, and which Aileen Aroon there has seen fit to copy.

"You see, on board a man-o'-war, Ida, whenever an officer comes on the quarter-deck, he lifts his hat, not to any one, remember, but out of respect to Her Majesty the Queen's ship. The sailors taught Nero to make a bow as soon as he came upstairs or up the ship's side, and it soon came natural to him, so that he really was quite as respectful to Her Majesty as any officer or man on board.

"My old favourite, Tyro, was so fond of music that whenever I took up the violin, he used to come and throw himself down at my feet. I do not think Nero was ever fond of music, and I hardly know the reason why he tolerated the band playing on the quarter-deck, for whenever on sh.o.r.e if he happened to see and hear a bra.s.s band (a German itinerant one, I mean), he flew straight at them, and never failed to scatter them in all directions. I am afraid I rather encouraged him in this habit of his; it was amusing and it made the people laugh. It did not make the German fellows laugh, however--at least, not the man with the big ba.s.soon--for Nero always singled him out, probably because he was making more row than the others. A gentleman said one day that Nero ought to be bought by the people of Margate, and kept as public property to keep the streets clear of the German band element.

"But Nero never attempted to disperse the ship's band--he seemed rather to like it. I remember once walking in a city up North, some years after Nero left the service, and meeting a band of volunteers.

"'Oh,' thought Nero, 'this does put me in mind of old times.'

"I do not know for certain that this was really what the dog thought, but I am quite sure about what he did, and that was, to put himself at the head of that volunteer regiment and march in front of it. As no coaxing of mine could get the dog away, I was obliged to fall in too, and we had quite a mile of a march, which I really had not expected, and did not care for.

"Nero's partiality for marines was very great; but here is a curious circ.u.mstance: the dog knows the difference between a marine and a soldier in the street, for even a year after he left garrison, if he saw a red-jacket in the street, he would rush up to its owner. If a soldier, he merely sniffed him and ran on; if a marine, he not only sniffed him, but jumped about him and exhibited great joy, and perhaps ended by taking the man's cap in a friendly kind of a way, and just for auld lang syne.

"Nero's life on board ship would have been one of unalloyed happiness, except for those dreadful guns. The dog was not afraid of an ordinary fowling-piece, but a cannon was another concern, and as we were very often at general quarters, or saluting other ships, Nero had more than enough of big guns. Terrible things he must have thought them--things that went off when a man pulled a string, that went off with fire and smoke, and a roar louder than any thunder; things that shook the ship and smashed the crockery, and brought his master's good old fiddle tumbling down to the deck--terrible things indeed. Even on days when there was no saluting or firing, there was always that eight o'clock gun.

"As soon as the quartermaster entered the wardroom, a few seconds before eight in the evening, and reported the hour to the commander, poor Nero took refuge under the sofa.

"He knew the man's knock.

"'Eight o'clock, sir, please,' the man would say.

"'Make it so,' the commander would reply, which meant, 'Fire the gun.'

"This was enough for Nero; he was in hiding a full minute before they could 'make it so.'"

"Is that the reason," asked Ida, "why you sometimes say eight o'clock to him when you want him to go and lie down?"

"Yes, birdie," I replied. "He does not forget it, and never will as long as he lives. If you look at him even now, you will see a kind of terror in his eye, for he knows what we are talking about, and he is not quite sure that even here in this peaceful pine wood some one might not fire a big gun and make it eight o'clock."

"No, no, no," cried Ida, throwing her arms around the dog, "don't be afraid, dear old Nero. It shan't be eight o'clock. It will never, never be eight o'clock any more, dearest doggie."

Note 1. "Friends in Fur." Published by Messrs. Dean and Son, Fleet Street, London.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

THE STORY OF AILEEN'S HUSBAND, NERO--CONTINUED.

"His locked and lettered braw bra.s.s collar Showed him the gentleman and scholar."

"You promised," said my little companion the very next evening, "to resume the thread of Nero's narrative."